I swallow. I make myself breathe, brush his hair back again.
“I couldn’t make myself go through with it,” he says. “I looked at rings exactly once and I had to leave the store to puke on the sidewalk outside because I couldn’t stomach the thought of marrying someone I didn’t love.”
I had no idea. We weren’t as close for a little while after he found out about Rusty — he suddenly had a child, I was working two jobs and trying to get my shit together — but he’s never told me this before.
I look down at the ring on my finger, the light inside it moving with the rocking of the porch swing. I know he doesn’t like Crystal. I know he’s never liked Crystal, but I know he loves Rusty and I know his guilt over her is deep and real.
“Do you even like bowling?” I ask. It’s the first thing that pops into my head that I can say out loud.
“No,” he says. “I mean, I don’t hate it, either. I guess I’m neutral on bowling.”
“And picket fences?”
“Maybe if I’d married her she’d love Rusty,” he says. “Maybe if we’d gotten together, at least lived in the same house, she’d have spent time with her and gotten to know her better, been there when she started walking and talking and reading, sent her off to her first day of school, come to her ballet recitals…”
I lean my head back, silent, try to control my breathing as tears prick my eyes.
I hate Crystal. I hate her. Not just what she’s done to Rusty but for what she’s done to Daniel, for making him twist himself into knots over not marrying her years ago. For making him think that her behavior is his fault. For letting him think that if he’d done something differently, they’d all a perfect, happy family right now.
And I hate her for making me glad that they’re not. I hate her for the small, savage pleasure of knowing that instead of two kids and a loving wife and a dog and a picket fence, Daniel’s drunk and holding my hand right now.
I hate her for making me glad that his happy ending hasn’t happened yet because it means I get him.
“I’m glad I didn’t, though,” he says, after a moment. “Even if it meant she’d have come to ballet recitals. Because I’d be fucking miserable and I wouldn’t be here right now.”
I tap my thumb on his chest as he opens his eyes, deep and blue as the night sky. He taps one finger on the stone in my ring, absentmindedly, watching my face. After a moment he sits up on the swing and puts his arm around me, tilts his head back and I lean against his shoulder.
“And I’m really glad I’m here right now,” he says softly.Chapter Twenty-SixDaniel“I would never kill a civilian in cold blood,” Silas is saying, beer in hand, legs stretched in front of him. “But if I did, they’d never even find the body. That’s a promise. Never.”
There’s a slight pause around the table, as the other three of us sip our beers and contemplate this statement.
“But how do you really feel about Brett?” Eli drawls.
“He does sound dedicated,” Levi offers.
“Maybe he should come back with a herd of goats,” I say.
“I don’t actually believe in dowries, you assholes,” Silas says. “And besides, wouldn’t the goats go to our father? I wouldn’t get the goats.”
“You’d inherit them one day,” says Eli.
“Eventually, the goats would be yours,” adds Levi.
We’re all quiet again for a moment, sitting on the lawn outside the brewery in four wooden Adirondack chairs around a low table. It’s a gorgeous night out: warm, slightly humid, the stars all out. It’s nine-thirty on a Tuesday night, so the brewery is pretty quiet. Rusty’s asleep and my mom is home, so I’m here with my brothers. And Silas, who’s sort of a fourth-and-a-half brother.
“I could use a flock of goats,” Levi says, his feet up on the low table, his beer balanced on his armrest, held lightly in one hand. “The Forest Service has been looking into using them on hillsides as an alternative to mowing some portions of the Parkway. It’s apparently possible to rent hungry goats by the hour.”
“Or you could marry Brett,” Silas says. “He’s available. I know this because he played a boombox at my sister’s window.”
“I don’t think I’d trust Brett to choose his goats wisely,” Levi says.
“I don’t think I’d trust Brett to choose anything wisely,” Eli says.
“Except women, you mean,” Silas prompts.
Levi’s face goes carefully neutral, and he takes another sip of his beer.
“Right,” Eli agrees.
“Where did he get a boombox?” I ask, and everyone goes quiet again for a moment.
“That’s actually a good question,” Silas says. “I haven’t seen a boombox in years. God, that’s even more suspicious.”